Posted in 5 paws, excerpt, Giveaway, Review, romance on February 22, 2019

Synopsis

“Sharon Sala is a consummate storyteller.”—DEBBIE MACOMBER, #1 NYT Bestselling Author for A Piece of My Heart

Every storm they’ve weathered…has led them to each other

Dan Amos lost his wife and son years ago, when they inadvertently got in the way of a death threat meant for him. He’s never had eyes for anyone since, and he doesn’t want to. But fellow Blessings resident Alice Conroy sparks something inside him…

Newly widowed, Alice was disillusioned by marriage and isn’t looking to fall in love anytime soon. Then a tropical storm blazes a path straight for the Georgia coast, and as the town prepares for the worst, Dan opens his heart and his home. The tempest is raging, but Alice and Dan are learning to find shelter…in each other.

Review

I love this series – it is a sweet romance series that touches my heart each time I read one of the books. This book focused on newcomer Dan Amos and Alice Conroy. Both have had tragedy in their lives but that made their union even that much sweeter.

Blessings GA is in for a rough ride as a hurricane is on its way and the town is right in its the path. While no one is safe from this national disaster it was nice to see how the citizens of this town come together to help each other when all was said and done. There are several that discovered that the path they were on was going to lead to their downfall and righted their path once they realized they did not like who they were becoming.

While the story focused on Dan and Alice, there was no shortage of other characters you will remember from the other books.

Usually, I have an idea of who the next book might be about but I have no idea who to expect the focus to be on in the next installment. Maybe Lovey, the owner of Granny’s diner. She ran into some problems in this book from the hurricane but thankfully has the whole town plus Ruby and Peanut to help her out.

We give this 5 paws up and suggest starting with the first book so that you can follow the personal storylines of the various characters.

Excerpt

School was officially out for the day, and parents were standing outside their cars, making sure they were in plain sight today so that their children would not be afraid.

Dan was on his way back to his truck when Alice got out. She waved at him, then stood out on the sidewalk so Patty could see her. She would be looking for their car, not Dan Amos’s truck.

Dan jogged over to where she was standing and tossed his crowbar into the truck bed.

“You were amazing,” Alice said. “I was afraid you would get hurt, too.”

He grinned. “It appears I haven’t lost my roping skills.”

Alice’s eyes widened. “I thought you were a lawyer before you came here.”

“I was once, but I grew up on a ranch in Texas. My parents still live on it, but both of my brothers run it now. When we were kids, we all worked the ranch,” he said.

“So I guess you ride horses, too?” she said.

Grinning, Dan pointed to his boots and belt buckle. “Yes, ma’am. This stuff’s not for show.”

Alice laughed and then heard the bell ring and turned toward the school. Within moments, kids began emerging through the front doors. “Here they come,” she said.

Dan was still trying to get past how her laugh made him feel when the children began coming outside. To his surprise, there was actually a kind of order to their exit. Teachers walked with part of the students toward buses, while other teachers walked with the in-­town riders. He was wondering who would be driving the injured driver’s bus when he saw a man come jogging out behind some of the kids and head that way.

“That’s the PE coach. I’ll bet he’s going to be the substitute driver,” Alice said, and then pointed. “There’s Patty! Oh…she doesn’t see my car.”

“We’ll fix that,” Dan said, and once again, he picked Alice up by the waist and swung her up and into the truck bed. Now she was heads above everyone. “Wave! She’ll see you,” Dan said.

Alice’s heart was hammering as she turned and waved, and then kept on waving until suddenly Patty saw her, smiled, and waved back.

“She saw you, right?” Dan asked.

“Yes, she did! Thank you so much.”

“Ready to get down?” he asked.

She nodded.

This time, he let the tailgate down and then held out his arms. She sat down on the tailgate, then he lifted her off and set her on her feet.

“We should have driven my car. Then you wouldn’t have to be helping me up and helping me down,” she said.

“What’s the fun in that?” he asked, grinning as he set her back into his front seat.

She was a bit taken aback by the teasing, then laughed. Moments later, they began moving up in line along with everyone else. Within a couple of minutes, they were at the loading zone. Dan jumped out and opened the back door of his truck.

“One more Conroy girl to load up, and then we’re good to go,” he said as Patty came running.

As soon as she was buckled in the back seat, she started talking.

“Mama, a girl named Shirley threw up on teacher’s shoes at lunch. I got a happy face on my workbook page and skinned my knee at recess! Did you know there were mean dogs at our school? Will they come back? I might be a’scairt tomorrow.”

Dan was grinning. “Does she ever stop to take a breath?”

“Rarely,” Alice said, then turned around to look at Patty. “Good for you for getting a happy face. That makes Mama’s face happy, too. We did know about the dogs. Mr. Amos saw the dogs and ran to help the bus driver. He stopped the dogs, and the police came and took them away. You don’t have to be scared about anything, okay?”

“Okay, Mama. Thank you, Mr. Amos.”

“You’re welcome, Patty.” Then he glanced at Alice. “Do you need anything before I take you home?”

“No, thank you. We have all we need,” she said.

“Okay then,” he said, and turned left at the stop sign by the school.

“Mama, is Charlie gonna have to walk home by himself? Won’t he be a’scairt, too?”

Alice shook her head. “Charlie walks home every day, and no, he won’t be scared. Charlie is a big boy, remember?”

Patty nodded.

Dan smiled as he drove, enjoying the little girl’s chatter and Alice’s calm demeanor. He was actually disappointed when he reached their house and pulled up into the driveway.

“Well, ladies, you’re home. Alice, if you will bear with me one more time, I’ll help you two out and see you to the door like the gentleman my mama raised me to be.”

He circled the truck, helped Alice down first, and then Patty. Once Patty’s feet touched the ground, she was running toward the house and already on the porch, airing her cheerleader skills by running from one end of the porch to the other, cheering as she went.

Dan laughed out loud at the surprised expression on Alice’s face.

Alice sighed. “Don’t encourage her.”

“Is that even possible?” he asked, as he helped her up the steps. “House key?”

She handed it to him. “It’s the one with the pink nail polish on it, remember?”

“Got it,” he said, unlocked the front door, and then stood back out of the way as Patty danced through the doorway and into the house. Dan was still grinning as he dropped the key ring into Alice’s palm. “It has been a pleasure to spend this time with you and your mini me, Ms. Alice. Maybe we could do this again sometime when there’s nothing else calling your attention.”

Alice was so shocked by the invitation that she forgot to answer.

Dan hesitated. That wasn’t the response he was hoping for. “Uh…so, is that a silent yes, or a silent no?”

She blinked. “Oh. I’m sorry. Uh…it’s a yes, and thank you?”

His heart skipped a beat. Here he was, wanting to kiss her again. He settled for a touch on her forearm. “Take care of that hand,” he said, and left before he made a bigger fool of himself or she changed her mind.

He was on his way home before the shock of what he’d done finally hit. “I cannot believe I asked her on a date.” He drove a whole block farther. “I can’t believe she said yes,” he added. He got home and all the way inside his house with one last question yet unasked. Was tomorrow too soon?

 

About the Author

SHARON SALA has over one hundred books in print and has published in five different genres. She is an eight-time RITA finalist, five-time Career Achievement winner from RT Book Reviews, and five-time winner of the National Reader’s Choice Award. Writing changed her life, her world, and her fate. She lives in Norman, Oklahoma.

Website * Goodreads * Twitter * Facebook

 

 

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Posted in Book Release, excerpt, fiction, suspense, Thriller on February 22, 2019

Synopsis

When a homeless war veteran is beaten to death by the police, stormy protests ensue, engulfing a small New Jersey town. Soon after, three cops are gunned down. A multi-state manhunt is underway for a cop killer on the loose. And Dr. Tessa Thorpe, a veteran’s counselor, is caught up in the chase. Donald Darfield, an African-American Iraqi war vet, war-time buddy of the beaten man, and one of Tessa’s patients, is holed up in a mountain cabin. Tessa, acting on instinct, sets off to find him, but the swarm of law enforcement officers gets there first, leading to Darfield’s dramatic capture. Now, the only people separating him from the lethal needle of state justice are Tessa and aging blind lawyer, Nathaniel Bodine. Can they untangle the web tightening around Darfield in time, when the press and the justice system are baying for revenge? Justice Gone is the first in a series of psychological thrillers involving Dr. Tessa Thorpe, wrapped in the divisive issues of modern American society including police brutality and disenfranchised returning war veterans.

Excerpt

Chapter 7

The funeral services, particularly the burial, had been announced as private and that sympathizers should remain at a discreet distance; and in a demonstration of exemplary respect, the hundreds of supporters complied with the request.

Family and comrades, especially those from the New Hope Clinic, were designated to be at the gravesite. An uninvited guest, surprisingly, was also among them: John Garson, Police Chief of Bruntfield Township.

After the lowering of the coffin, and the slow deliberate departure of the mourners, Garson slipped away, in the opposite direction that everyone else would follow toward their cars and hired limos: crossing fields of gravestones until he reached the coppices of oak trees, in order to escape the press.

Everyone else present merged into the group of activists who assembled at the gate of the plot, all intent upon making known the measure of their sorrow to the public.

The crowd that participated was moderate in numbers, but in no way insignificant—about seven hundred were reported to have shown up. They marched, waving their signs and chanting slogans, from the central commercial district to the Bruntfield Veterans Memorial Park, where a makeshift stage had been set up for the guest speakers. The local TV stations from Newark and Trenton, including the network affiliates, were present covering the march.

The whole thing was fairly orderly, despite the loud chants of “Justice for Jay” and the cardboard signs that said: WE DON’T WANT KILLER COPS, SHAME ON YOU, PROTECT NOT KILL, PUT THE ANIMALS BEHIND BARS. Police presence was minimal and subdued.

Once they arrived at the previously setup podium in the park, representatives of the various groups got their chance to express their views with the condition of keeping it short, and as per Marshal Felson’s request, focused on the incident. The fact that Jay Felson was approached by police when he was not in the act of committing any crime was stressed on more than one occasion. The TV crews covered the speeches with utmost diligence, as this was one of the highlights to be expected. Finally, for the emotional touch, the organizers called on the young man’s father.

“We are here today to let the city authorities know that we will be following very closely the grand jury proceedings!” Marshal Felson shouted. “That we, as a community, will not just brush this aside. I am grateful to all of you who have shown concern and have voiced their support for my son.” He gave up the mike and walked off the stage amid cheers and applause.

A rather frail-looking young man with glasses took control of the audience to announce that Dr. Tessa Thorpe from the New Hope Trauma Recovery Clinic was to be the next speaker.

Tessa had given much thought as to how she should dress for the occasion. Her first instinct was her Karen Kane pants suit, but dismissed that idea to wear her copper-brown print kaftan in its stead.

Now, with its folds caught in the vigorous September breeze, giving the illusion of a multitude of miniature flags fluttering around her, her thick locks of hair dancing around her head, she spoke to the crowd, slowly, deliberately taking her time. “Hello, my fellow citizens.” She stopped to survey the mass of people standing in front of her. Dramatic pauses replete with eye contact, if not overdone, were quite effective in getting one’s message across. Not surprisingly, Tessa knew how to get her message across, a special art in the realm of behavioral scientists. Public relations firms, advertising companies, political campaigns, all hired an army of psychologists to sell a product. And Tessa Thorpe, as someone who had thirty years’ experience as a criminal psychiatrist, could sell as well as any of them. “We are here today for two reasons, two very important reasons that are essential to our well-being in a modern society. Freedom is one, and justice is the other.”

Enthusiastic cheers.

“When the call for war came, we were told that our enemies hated our freedoms. We were told that the citizens of Iraq had been held hostage by a ruthless dictator who denied his own people these freedoms. Our invasion of that country was sold to us as Operation Iraqi Freedom. And so we sent our young men and women off to war, the most traumatic experience a human being could ever go through, with the belief that they were fighting for liberty and freedom. And yet, one of those whom we had sent…had come back to us only to have his own freedom denied. His single offence at the time he was approached by law enforcement officers was that he was exercising his freedom to stand on a street corner.”

This elicited a roar from the crowd.

“This is not merely tragic, it is an act of deplorable fraud, being denied the very thing he fought for!”

More heartfelt cheering.

“When I was young, we were made to pledge allegiance, an oath that ended with the phrase, ‘with liberty and justice for all.’ Well, Jay Felson was denied liberty…let us make sure he is NOT DENIED JUSTICE!”

An ear-shattering reverberation of concurrence.

Having descended from the little platform with the crowd still shouting in endorsement, Tessa was serially embraced by her coworkers: Casey, Ed, Penny…all with praise about her wonderful speech, culminating in Marshal Felson’s hug, whispering into her ear, “Amazing.”

The next event on the program was to go together to the site where Jay was killed at the bus depot in order to lay memorial flowers and gifts. The TV teams followed, instinctively knowing that this was indeed another newsworthy item. In fact, as a human interest story, it tugged at the heart to see the gift bearers laying their offers down. And what made it even more poignant was the huge bloodstain that had yet to be cleaned off the pavement, a crimson smear that drew numerous zoomed-in shots by the camera crews.

About the Author

N. Lombardi Jr, the N for Nicholas, has spent over half his life in Africa, Asia, and the Middle East, working as a groundwater geologist. Nick can speak five languages: Swahili, Thai, Lao, Chinese, and Khmer (Cambodian).

In 1997, while visiting Lao People’s Democratic Republic, he witnessed the remnants of a secret war that had been waged for nine years, among which were children wounded from leftover cluster bombs. Driven by what he saw, he worked on The Plain of Jars for the next eight years.

Nick maintains a website with content that spans most aspects of the novel: The Secret War, Laotian culture, Buddhism etc.

His second novel, Journey Towards a Falling Sun, is set in the wild frontier of northern Kenya.

His latest novel, Justice Gone was inspired by the fatal beating of a homeless man by police.

Nick now lives in Phnom Penh, Cambodia

Website * Goodreads * Amazon

Posted in Book Release, excerpt, Giveaway, Guest Post, romance on February 21, 2019

Title: The (Half) Truth
Author: Leddy Harper
Release Date: February 19, 2019
Publisher: Montlake Romance

Synopsis

Tatum Alexander is so close to realizing her dream of becoming a sous chef she can taste it, but working at her ex-fiancé’s restaurant with his new girlfriend was never in her career plan. To save face and prove she’s moved on, Tatum cooks up a lie that she’s in a relationship with her best friend’s superhot cousin. There’s just one problem: Jason only recently moved to town, and he has no idea they’re already “dating.”

Jason’s a recovering ladies’ man who shouldn’t be on the menu, but that doesn’t mean he’s immune to Tatum’s quirky charm. Giving her lie a kernel of truth, they decide some no-strings-attached fun between the sheets can’t hurt. But as Tatum’s forced to keep making up stories to cover her original fib, she has a hard time separating what’s real and what’s fake—including her feelings for Jason.

With too many tales spun, Tatum can only watch in horror as her collection of yarns begins to unravel, leaving everyone she cares about feeling betrayed. After so many lies, will it be too late to set the record straight? And more importantly, will she be able to convince Jason there’s truth in their love?

Guest Post

How To Properly Create a Fake Relationship with the Heroine from THE (HALF) TRUTH

My name is Tatum Alexander, and I’m a liar. There…I’ve said it. Now, before you judge me, hear me out. While I understand this might sound preposterous (if it hadn’t happened to me, I wouldn’t believe it, either), trust me when I say it’s 100% true.

You see, what had happened was…my fiancé dumped me in the most epically humiliating way—while sitting at a table in a fancy restaurant, waiting for my friends and family to join us for my birthday dinner. But, he wasn’t just my fiancé (well, technically, my ex-fiancé), he was also the owner of the posh restaurant I worked at. And rather than quit my job after he dumped me, I stayed because it would’ve been career suicide to leave after I’d gotten so close to being a sous-chef (my dream job). The one thing I hadn’t expected was that a few months later, my ex-fiancé would hire his new girlfriend—who happens to work in the kitchen, one station away from me. Needless to say, I was unable to escape the embarrassment and devastation that surrounded my breakup…especially since the kitchen was full of nosy-bodies.

And since my ex has the heart of a corpse, he decided to schedule me and his new girlfriend to work side by side at the town’s annual foodie festival. She’s not a bad person—kind of sweet, really, aside from the whole dating my ex thing—so it wouldn’t have been that bad had she not spent the whole time discussing how “wonderful” her relationship was. Before I knew it, I was telling them all about the new guy I was dating. (I’ll let you in on a little secret…I wasn’t dating anyone. Didn’t really even know the guy, but that’s what I get for trying to sound like I wasn’t bothered by her stories of her “amazing” boyfriend.) I guess you can say that was the beginning of the train wreck. And boy, what a train wreck it was!

Looking back on it now, I can see where I went wrong. Then again, hindsight’s twenty-twenty. If I had to make a list of all the mistakes I made while forming this “half” truth of sorts (AKA my new boyfriend), I’d probably start with the boyfriend himself. You see…I had recently met my best friend’s older, extremely hot, sexy, and single cousin. And somehow, while describing my faux-beau, I ended up giving a very detailed description of said older, extremely hot, sexy, and single cousin of my best friend. The very next mistake happened about five seconds later when I was asked what his name was. Jay. Sounded simple enough. Except my bestie’s cousin’s name is Jason. Technically not the same name. But still, it would’ve been smarter to have gone with Ricardo…or Thor. Anything other than the first syllable of his real name. And the very next mistake happened five seconds after that…when I stupidly showed the girls his picture. It could be argued that that had been the biggest mistake of them all, considering the real Jason showed up to the very same foodie festival I was working. Although, with as well as I’d detailed his entire body, they could’ve very well picked him out of a crowd without a picture.

My story doesn’t end there, but I don’t want to bore you with the details of how my “lie” became somewhat of a “truth”…right after everyone I worked with witnessed him cheating on me (in his defense, he had no idea we were dating. In my defense, I had no idea he’d become interested in me after all my co-workers thought him to be a lying, cheating scumbag. But I digress.) All of that could’ve easily been avoided if I was a better liar, if I wasn’t such an awkward person—especially around a certain extremely hot, sexy, single guy—if I hadn’t kept it all from my best friend, or if that same best friend hadn’t “forbidden” me to see him in the first place. So all in all, it wasn’t entirely my fault.

But at least I now know what not to do when creating a fake relationship. So, if any of you find yourselves in a situation like I did (oh, who am I kidding? I’m literally the only person on the planet who could manage that) or in any situation where one might need an imaginary boyfriend, I have a few tips to keep in mind. One—never use a real person. Especially his name. It would be best if you take eleven or twelve different men and describe their physical traits as if they were one person. That way, the chances of anyone “finding” him will be slim to none. And if he is found…I’d say that’s as good as any sign I can think of that he’s your soul mate—which might behoove you to pick some pretty delicious-looking men, if you ask me. Two—and this one’s important, so pay very close attention…never, and I mean never show anyone a picture of this guy. If anyone asks why you don’t have any photos, make sure you have a realistic list of excuses. Such as: he’s camera shy; you lost all your pictures in the last software update on your phone; he’s a celebrity and doesn’t want to risk putting you in the public eye. Okay, that last one might be a bit too much. I never claimed to be a good liar. And three—which might very well be the most important tip I could ever give…do not, under any circumstances, fall in love with him (especially if you’ve made him up…because then you’d have a few additional problems to deal with rather than just getting caught in a lie).

Trust me…getting caught in what I call a “domino-effect” lie (once one falls apart, the entire thing comes crashing down) is not fun. So, if you’ve learned anything from me today, I hope that it’s the importance of a well-crafted lie. But in the event you get caught, always remember…it’s not a lie; it’s a “half” truth.

Excerpt

“You do know Michael used to be engaged to Tatum, right?”

“Yeah, he told me. But that was a while ago. Does it bother you, Tatum? You’ve never said anything about it.”

I thought about pointing out that six months wasn’t really a while ago, but I decided to let that go. And the idea of admitting how it felt to see him smile at her or whisper into her ear, let alone hear about all the things I didn’t have to witness, made me want to disappear. “Oh, no. I’m so over it. So, so over it.” And since stopping while I was ahead had never been my strong suit, I added, “In fact, I’ve been dating someone.”

“You have?” Both Rebecca and Amanda asked the same question at the same time, but while Rebecca’s voice was filled with excitement—which matched her bright eyes and ridiculous hand clap—Amanda’s was more cynical.

“Yup. And he’s amazing.”

“What’s his name?” Again with the doubtful tone from Amanda. She’d been part of my postbreakup support system, so I couldn’t exactly blame her for questioning my sudden confession. After everything Michael had put me through, this was something I definitely would’ve told her … had it been true.

“Uh … Jay. His name’s Jay.”

“Where’d you meet him?” This time, it was Rebecca asking, as if we were girlfriends sharing juicy gossip over mimosas at a spa.

I had no idea why I’d even started this. I should’ve known they’d jump all over it like rabid dogs on a T-bone. Yet I couldn’t back out now.

“We met at a barbecue.” Short and sweet, not many details I’d have to remember. Perfect.

“When?” Dammit, Amanda. She was no longer on my Christmas card list—not that I’d ever sent any out, but that didn’t mean I didn’t have a list in case one year I felt ambitious. And if that year ever came, this heifer wouldn’t get one.

“Two weeks ago.”

“What’s he look like?” Rebecca’s blue eyes shimmered.

“Yeah, tell us what he looks like, Tatum.” And now she could forget getting a birthday present from me. It also helped that I had no idea when her birthday was.

“He’s tall. Hot. A man’s man.” That could’ve been anyone. I was still safe.

“How very nondescript of you.”

“Well, you know how it is, Amanda.” I glared at her, hoping she’d get the hint and go with it. “It’s still new, and I wouldn’t want anyone to get jealous of how perfect he is.”

“No need to worry about me. I’m very secure in my relationship with Michael.”

I wanted to ask Rebecca how secure she could possibly be with a man who, six months ago, had broken up with his fiancée on her birthday because he said he wasn’t sure if he was ready for something so serious. But I held back the wicked comments that longed to slip off my tongue.

The next words out of my mouth were Michael’s fault. Had he not forced me to spend the day with his new girlfriend, listening to every detail of their relationship, I never would’ve been in this position.

“He has dark hair that’s trimmed short on the sides and a little longer on top, just enough to look messy if he runs his fingers through it. His eyes are this amazing shade of green—sometimes they’re light, like blades of grass at the beginning of spring, and other times they’re darker, similar to the color of a Christmas tree. And he’s gotta be over six feet tall. When I stand next to him, I’m eye level with his chest.” I glanced at my phone in my hand, noticing that the photo still filled the screen, and realized I had described Jason to a T.

“Go on,” Rebecca prodded. “Is he fit like Michael?”

By this point, I was in it to win it.

“He makes Michael look like a wimp. And I’m not just saying that because Michael’s my ex, either. I could wash my clothes on his abs.” Well, that was taking it a little too far. I had to rein it in some if I wanted her to actually believe me. “He works out all the time, so he’s totally in shape. Not an inch of fat on him.”

“He sounds dreamy,” Rebecca said with a sigh.

“Yeah, he does. Almost too good to be true … like you made him up. You probably don’t have any pictures of him, do you?” As only a friend would, Amanda loved watching me dig my own grave.

“As a matter of fact, I do.” I thought about sticking my tongue out at Amanda in an immature “shows what you know” kind of way, but then I realized what I’d just done. In my need to prove her wrong—even though she wasn’t—I’d inadvertently dug my hole even deeper.

“Well, let’s see it.”

I had no choice but to show them the photo on my phone. I had to admit, though, the surprise on Amanda’s face when she saw it gave me a sense of victory—like winning Monopoly only because I cheated. Rebecca’s approval was simply the icing on the cake.

A cake that came crashing to the ground about thirty minutes later.

Rebecca stared at something over my shoulder and asked, “Hey, Tatum, isn’t that Jay?”

“Huh? Jay who?”

“Uh … your boyfriend,” Amanda reminded me with a quirked brow.

I craned my neck so fast it gave me a cramp. There was no way it was him. Okay, so that was wishful thinking on my part. Not only was there a chance he was here, but he was, in fact, here. At Taste of the Town. Standing a few tents away next to another guy.

My life was over.

Having Amanda believe I had lied about a boyfriend was one thing—having multiple people catch me in said lie was another. Add in the probability of Jason being one of those people, and … shoot me now.

About the Author

Leddy Harper had to use her imagination often as a child: she grew up the only girl in a family full of boys. At fourteen, she decided to use that imagination to write her first book, and she never stopped. She often calls writing her therapy, using it to deal with issues through the eyes of her characters.

Harper is now a mother of three girls, making her husband the only man in a house full of females. She published her first book to encourage her children to go after whatever they want, to inspire them to love what they do and do it well, and to teach them what it means to overcome their fears.

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Posted in 4 paws, Christian, excerpt, Supernatural, suspense, Thriller on February 19, 2019

 

Title: BLESSED: THE PRODIGAL DAUGHTER
Author: A.L. Bryant
Publisher: HSW Publications LLC
Pages: 279
Genre: Supernatural Christian Thriller/Horror

Synopsis

On New Year’s Eve 2021 the staff at St. Ann’s Hospital witness a medical miracle when a semi-conscious woman walks into the emergency room. The Jane Doe has been stabbed multiple times and as the staff struggle to keep the woman alive in the end all they can do is stand back and watch as their mysterious patient revives herself.

Glory wakes up in St. Ann’s Hospital gravely injured from an attack she cannot remember. However, her memory loss is no ordinary amnesia and she is no ordinary patient. Much to the shock of the hospital staff Glory heals at three times the rate of an average person. Soon the administration hears of her unique case and waste no time convincing the recovering Glory to be a part of an experiment to discover the origins of her power.

Once outside the comforting walls of the hospital it becomes apparent that healing is just a small portion of Glory’s capabilities. Abilities that to Glory’s distress are becoming increasingly unstable. Deciding that the hospital’s experiments are in vain, Glory embarks on her own Journey to discover the source of her power, unaware that she is a major pawn in a war between two secret organizations.

The two syndicates continue to clash in their fight for control and their battles result in several casualties. The crimes of their warfare surface and draw the attention of Dennis Wilson, a NYPD Detective known for solving his cases in the first forty-eight hours. Dennis follows the trail of bodies out of curiosity. But when his curiosity causes the deaths of his loved ones Detective Dennis becomes obsessed with the case.

In his overzealous attempts to find the murderer Dennis becomes the syndicates’ next target. Now the Detective must run for his life and the only person capable of saving him is the very person he suspects.

Blessed: The Prodigal Daughter is a hybrid of government espionage and supernatural Thriller. This novel is intended for audiences 18+ that seek an edgier outlook on Christian fiction. Blessed: The Prodigal Daughter is the first installment of the Blessed trilogy.

 

Review

This book is filled with mystery, suspense, supernatural, and plot jumps that will keep you on your toes (or the edge of your seat).

This story spans about 20-25 years and follows three children – a boy and two girls, and what they experience because they are different. These three children are almost immortal. Their bodies heal quickly and it alludes to their faith in a higher power. Their parents are scientists and while the science portion is briefly touched upon, it implies that it is a higher level of consciousness that allows the children to stand out from the crowd.

There is a struggle between good and evil and there is a lot of evil especially from a character named Simon. The author does a great job of making him unlikeable and his evil nature is portrayed well.

As the story jumps around in the timeline and between various characters, it is sometimes hard to keep track of who to root for or who we should be wary of, but that is what makes the book intriguing.

The story does just end and I wondered if I was missing pages.  However, I realized as I was reading the synopsis afterward that this is book one in a trilogy which makes a lot of sense because this book left with me with a lot of questions that were not answered especially since this book focuses primarily on one of the girls. I know there has to be more to this story and this book does leave you wanting to know more…at least it did for me!

We give this 4 paws up.

Excerpt

With a slight hesitation, Glory examined the entrance. Using the corner of her jacket she tested the knob, not overly surprised when the door opened easily. Behind her, she could still hear the muffled sounds of the girl’s sobs. Glory stepped one foot through the door and paused. She turned sideways and looked back out into the yard. With one foot inside the house and one still on the porch, she stared at the girl, whose eyes were as wide as her own. The side of her body that remained outside of the house felt light; she could feel the breeze whip her clothing. She raised her hand and, as expected, it lifted easily. Glory looked down at her other arm, the one in the corridor of the house. Sweat drizzled down her brow as she struggled to lift it.

Making sure to keep her voice light, Glory nodded in the direction of the gate. “Go home, I’ll get Mitch and he’ll call you afterwards.” She waited until the girl nodded reluctantly and disappeared.

Feeling a strong urge to leave, Glory turned as quickly as she could and closed the door behind her. Instant darkness. She pulled out the cell phone Dr. Stephens had helped her purchase shortly after she left the hospital, and turned its flashlight on. She had not paid the bill in a long time, so she had no service, but Glory still kept it charged. The corridor was short, maybe two or three large steps long. A staircase, which dominated the space in the narrow corridor, stood against the left wall. Glory shined the light up the steps trying to determine where they led, but the light’s range was too short.

Examining the staircase carefully to make sure it could hold her weight, Glory began ascending. The house had its own gravity; every step felt like moving through quicksand. By the time she made it to the top, she was winded. She leaned against the wall, shining her light around the area while she rested. She stood in another corridor, much larger than the first one. A solid wall lined one side; several doors, some of them mere centimeters apart, lined the other. She pushed herself away from the wall and walked to the first door, covered her hand with her jacket, turned the knob, and pushed the door. It gave way only slightly before it refused to open any farther. She tried pulling the door, but it could only be opened inward. She pushed one more time, shining a light through the narrow opening to see if she could locate the blockage—silently hoping it wasn’t the boy—but nothing met the light. Frustrated, she moved on to the next door, only to encounter the same problem.

By the sixth one, Glory started to wonder if any of them were meant to open. With each door, she put more strength and effort into her shoulders and arms, desperately trying to force her way through. By the twelfth, she was exhausted. She took a deep breath and shoved her shoulder against it. The door swung open, Glory stumbled two feet, and fell through the hole behind it. She fell through one story of the house into an open room and into the much bigger hole in that room’s floor. She fell through another story and into another room with another hole. She hit hard rock and slid until she landed on her back. Her head hit the floor and her eyes instantly clouded from the impact.

Glory’s breath and sight came back simultaneously. Slowly, she sat up with a grunt as she brought her right hand to her ribs. Not only had her pack survived the fall, but she had managed to hold on to her phone. Standing up, still favoring her left side, Glory began dusting herself off. Her hands shook and she took a deep breath to dispel the effects of the adrenaline still rushing through her body. Turning on the light so she could look around, Glory shifted her feet. Taking a small step forward, she tripped on something, but managed sustain her balance with a small hop to dislodge whatever had caught her foot.

Glory turned the light downward to look at the ground and saw a piece of cloth clinging to her boot. Ruffles—the cloth was filthy, covered in dust and grime, but the ruffles still maintained their shape. Forgetting herself, Glory reached out and ran her fingertips over the cloth, smoothing the dirt away so she could see the color. Her fingertips grew warm and her eyes widened as she realized what she had done. Too late, she snatched her hand away.

“This is so exciting!” A young woman in a blue ball gown tightened her grip on her friend’s arm, her gloved fingers long and delicate. Looking a little less interested, her friend, a tall, thin brunette, pried the girl’s hands from her arm, but her friend only returned them with slightly less bruising force.

“Yes, well, if my father knew I was here, it would be the end of me.”

“That’s what these are for, silly.” The young woman flipped her blonde hair behind her shoulders and tapped her masquerade mask with her folded fan.

“I shouldn’t have let you talk me into this. I have a bad feeling.”

“You are thinking far too much. Now tell me how beautiful I look and then let’s go get some refreshments.”

The brunette stood back and pretended to consider her friend. “You look positively stunning as always, Annabelle. Your dress is lovely; I could never pull off so many ruffles.”

Annabelle waved the last statement away. “Nonsense, Sarah, I’m sure you would look just as lovely in ruffles. I don’t know why you insist on wearing such drab garments.” She looked her friend up and down, a frown on her face as she examined the dark green dress that covered Sarah, from its unfashionably high neckline down to the slightly pointed toes of her boots.

Sarah grimaced. “My father does not agree with today’s fashions. He thinks exposing shoulders, wrists, and cleavage is unseemly.” Trying to distract her friend from her dress, she made a show of looking around. “This is an extremely odd house, isn’t it? Why would he build a staircase directly at the entrance?”

“For that matter, why build a staircase that only goes to the top floor when there are four flights in between?”

“We’ve been here less than an hour and I’m already confused. So many corridors and staircases.”

“And how many rooms are there, anyway? There are doors everywhere you look.” The girls spoke frantically now, their intertwined arms squeezing together as they became more excited.

Annabelle turned to her friend. “Let’s explore the house more.”

Sarah looked over her shoulder. “I don’t know. We haven’t even greeted the host yet. It would be bad manners.”

Annabelle shrugged. “It was bad manners for him not to show himself so he could be greeted.”

About the Author

A.L. Bryant was born and raised in St. Petersburg FL. She became interested in writing at an early age; an interest that depending on the circumstance brought punishment (detention for passing out the latest installment of her novella during class) and praise (being chosen for a youth writers conference at the Poynter Institute.)  A.L. Bryant gets her inspiration from both her mother and her Great Grandmother. Her mother recently published an inspirational children’s book under a pseudonym and her great grandmother is South Carolina’s first published African-American female author and playwright.

Until recently writing had simply been a pastime for A.L. Bryant who although she attended several writing courses, graduated with a B.A. in International Business. It was shortly after her second job as a Financial Office Manager at a Goodwill correctional facility that she realized she loved writing more than anything else. It would still be some years before she would convert the short story she wrote in college into a novel.

Besides writing, A.L. Bryant loves traveling the world. God has blessed her with the opportunity to visit a total of seven countries. She has studied abroad in Seoul and has traveled throughout Kenya; two locations she researched for her Blessed series. Her dream is to visit every country in the world.

Her latest book is the supernatural Christian thriller horror novel, Blessed: The Prodigal Daughter.

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Posted in 5 paws, excerpt, fiction, Giveaway, Historical, Review on February 15, 2019

The Prophetic Mayan Queen: K’inuuw Mat of Palenque by Leonide Martin

Publisher: Made for Success Publishing/Made for Wonder (Dec 1, 2018)
Category: Historical Fiction, Ancient World, Caribbean & Latin American, Historical Romance/ Ancient World
Available in Print and ebook, 350 pages

Synopsis

She was born to serve the Goddess Ix Chel. But K’inuuw Mat is destined to continue the Palenque (Lakam Ha) dynasty by marriage to Tiwol, fourth son of famous ruler Pakal. Trained in prophetic arts, she uses scrying to foresee the face of the man with whom she will bear the dynastic heir—but it is not her husband’s image. She is shocked upon arriving at Palenque to recognize that face as her husband’s older brother, Kan Bahlam. They are immediately attracted, sharing a deep interest in astronomy. Though she resists, the magnetic force of their attraction propels them into forbidden embraces, until Kan Bahlam designs a bold plan that would solve his inability to produce a son—if he can gain his brother’s cooperation.

Set in the splendor of Lakam Ha’s artistic and scientific zenith, royal family conflicts and ambitions play out in a tapestry of brilliant Mayan accomplishments in calendars, astronomy, architecture, arts, and secret language codes that will astound people centuries later. As K’inuuw Mat contends with explosive emotions, she must answer the Goddess’ mandate to preserve Mayan culture for future generations. Her passion with Kan Bahlam leads to a pale daughter and bold son who carry this out as their civilization begins the decline and eventual collapse her prophetic vision foresees.

One great cycle rolls into the next . . . Contemporary Mexican archeologist Francesca and her partner Charlie, a British linguist, venture into Chiapas jungles to a remote Maya village, seeking to unravel her grandmother’s secrets. The hostile village shaman holds the key but refuses to share with outsiders the scandal that leads to foreign blood and ancient Palenque lineages. Only by reclaiming her own shamanic heritage can Francesca learn the truth of who she is, and bring her dynasty into the present.

Excerpt

The Oracle of Ix Chel Gives Prophecies

A priestess stood at either side of the statue. The pungent, woody scent of copal was strong and smoke burned eyes and nostrils. Other aromas combined in an intoxicating mixture of sweet flowers and acrid minerals. Sak T’ul appeared to be almost swooning and clung to her mother’s arm. K’inuuw Mat breathed the fumes fearlessly and felt her awareness beginning to change. She looked carefully around the chamber to commit details to memory, but found nothing else inside except the statue and priestesses. The inner walls were unadorned, and the stone floor was bare.

“Speak, pilgrim. Ask what you will of the Ix Chel Oracle,” intoned one priestess.

Chelte’ bowed with crossed arms, and the girls followed suit.

“Esteemed and honored Oracle, this one before you is Chelte’ of Altun Ha, wife of the Uxte’kuh ruler.” Chelte’ said reverently. “For myself, I have no questions. My purpose is to give thanks to Ix Chel for her blessings, for an abundant and comfortable life, and for my three children. Please accept my undying gratitude and unceasing devotion.”

New curls of smoke emanated from the statue’s mouth and nose, and an eerie voice replied, seeming to come from nowhere and everywhere.

“Pleased am I to accept your gratitude, Chelte’ of Altun Ha. Your family is well known to me, true servants of my work. May you abide in my future blessings. So it is.”

Chelte’ bowed, pushed Sak T’ul in front of the statue, and spoke again:  “For my eldest daughter, Sak T’ul, I seek your prophecy for her upcoming marriage, her fertility and happiness in our city. She is shy and requested that I ask for her.”

After another release of smoke, the Oracle’s voice wafted through the thick air.

“The fate of this one hovers on jungle vines,

wherein the balance of wisdom and audacity are tested.

Aptly balanced, she lives a life of ease, abundance, and blessed fertility.

But failed, her life is short. Destiny lies not in her hands.

Those close to her take care. Great happiness can be hers.”

Sak T’ul was crying, her body shaking as the Oracle ended the prophecy. Chelte’ wrapped both arms around her daughter to keep her from crumpling to the floor. In her mind, Chelte’ repeated the Oracle’s words to memorize them for future analysis. She nodded to K’inuuw Mat to pose her question.

Although shaken, K’inuuw Mat mustered her courage and stepped in front of the statue. Gazing upward at the implacable face, crowned with a coiled serpent headdress and wearing huge earspools, the girl breathed deeply and felt the edges of her awareness dissolving. Quickly she posed her question, afraid she might lose consciousness soon.

“Oh, great and glorious Goddess, standing before you is the new maiden K’inuuw Mat of Uxte’kuh, second daughter of Chelte’, one who comes to your sacred island for first moon rites. My deepest desire is to remain here and dedicate my life to your service. May I receive your prophecy for the purpose and direction of my life.”

It appeared to K’inuuw Mat that an unusual amount of new smoke poured out of the statue’s mouth and nose. As the spirals drifted down, they circled around her body almost making her cough. She felt something cold and smooth against her leg, and then a squeezing sensation caused her to gasp. Looking down, she saw a long black snake slithering up her right leg. Its wedge-shaped head alerted her that this was a poisonous viper, and a bolt of terror shot through her. The snake halted its ascent, drew its head upward and fixated beady eyes upon her face, forked tongue rapidly quivering.

She glanced wide-eyed at the nearest priestess, but the woman simply stared into space, appearing not to notice. The statue was half-hidden by smoke and her mother not visible behind her. Remembering her aunt’s description of the Oracle’s snakes, she withdrew her awareness and dropped into her center, willing a state of calmness. Mentally she communicated to the snake:  You are welcome here, servant of Ix Chel. You come in peace and I receive you in gratitude.

The snake waved its head several times, flicked its tongue and slowly slithered down from her leg. She watched it disappear through a hole in the base of the statue. The Oracle’s voice startled her.

“A seer you are and well command your fears.

The gift of prophecy resides within you; use it in service of others.

Deep is your tie to Ix Chel, but not to be realized here.

A destiny beyond your own awaits. A people’s legacy depends on you.

In the high court of royalty shall your life unfold.

Rulers shall seek your wisdom; leaders your guidance.

Through you shall dynasties abide.”

K’inuuw Mat stood in stunned silence. The Oracle’s prophecy was emblazoned in her mind, but she refused to accept it. Surely this was not correct! How could her destiny be other than serving the Goddess on Cuzamil?

She managed a slight bow when prompted by Chelte’, who led her daughters, both in tears, out of the Oracle’s shrine.

Guest Review by Sal

Leonide Martin’s “The Prophetic Mayan Queen: K’inuuw Mat of Palenque” is a fascinating and exciting work of historical fiction. Set in the ancient Mayan city of Palenque, ‘Prophetic’ tells the story of a young queen, K’inuuw Mat who discovers that her destiny lies in birthing an heir to the throne. K’inuuw Mat is a seer. She is able to have visions from the goddess Ix Chel herself and these visions are supposed to guide her as she goes through life. But shortly after discovering that she is supposed to marry Tiwol Chan Mat, she has a vision of the man that will help her bring the heir into the world and it is not her husband but his brother.

This book surprised me with its emotional intensity and realism. Quite often I find that with historical novels, especially historical novels set in the ancient world, that the author has a tendency to dwell too much on the world building and doesn’t spend enough time on the actual plot or the characterization. But this book had everything I wanted. Excellent world building (from an author who clearly knows quite a bit about Mayan civilizations) and excellent characters.

I truly felt strongly about K’inuuw Mat and wanted her to succeed as a wife, a mother and as a queen. I even appreciated Tiwol Chan Mat’s character and the fact that Martin didn’t take the easy way out of making him abusive or any kind of dastardly villain to make the reader automatically hate him. The romance was so genuine and heartbreaking that I found myself tearing up at times.

What a stunning portrayal of a fascinating time in human history and a strange and lovely story. This book left a warm feeling in my heart that I know I will remember for years to come. If you love historical fiction this book is a must.  I give it all 5 stars!

About the Author

Award-winning author, Leonide (Lennie) Martin: Retired California State University professor, former Family Nurse Practitioner, Author, and Maya researcher, Research Member Maya Exploration Center.

Dr. Martin’s books portray ancient Maya culture and civilization through stories about both actual historical Mayans and fictional characters. She studied Maya culture and history from both scientific and indigenous viewpoints.

While living for five years in Mérida, Yucatán, Mexico, she apprenticed with Maya Elder Hunbatz Men, becoming a Solar Initiate and Maya Fire Women in the Itzá Maya tradition. Other indigenous teachers in Guatemala included Maya Priestess-Daykeeper Aum Rak Sapper and Maya elder Tata Pedro. The ancient Mayas created the most highly advanced civilization in the Western hemisphere, and Martin’s work is dedicated to their wisdom, spirituality, scientific, and cultural accomplishments through compelling historical novels.

Martin’s interest in ancient Mayan women led to writing the Mayan Queens’ series called The Mists of Palenque. This 4-book series—each book stands alone—tells the stories of powerful women who shaped the destinies of their people as rulers themselves, or wives of rulers. These remarkable Mayan women are unknown to most readers. Using extensive research and field study, Martin aspires to depict ancient Palenque authentically and make these amazing Mayan Queens accessible to a wide readership.

Presently Dr. Martin lives with her husband David Gortner and two white cats in Oregon’s Willamette Valley wine country, where she enjoys reading, gardening, nature walks, classical music, and wine tasting.

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Giveaway

This giveaway is for the choice 3 print copies or ebook copies of the book, 1 copy per each of 3 winners. A print copy is available to Canada and the U.S. only but ebook is available worldwide. This giveaway ends on February 28, 2019, at midnight Pacific time. Entries are accepted via Rafflecopter only.

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Posted in excerpt, fiction, Spotlight on February 13, 2019

Synopsis

78 flash fictions from a master of the form

In Kiss Kiss, we’re introduced to a variety of stories, all told through a masterful blend of calamity and empathy.

Whether an aging man going through a mid-life crisis, or a grandmother getting fleeced by her own family, Beckman’s characters are written with a lively voice that is deft and saturated with heart.

Flash fiction, at its core, is a voyeuristic glimpse into a character’s internal struggle as the world around either helps or hinders the outcome. Hemmingway, Dybek, Ehrhardt, a few authors do it well. Paul Beckman is one of them.

Praise

“There are many surprises here and like other writers, I found myself thinking time and again, ‘I wish I’d written this.” — Niles Reddick, MBR: Reviewer’s Bookwatch

“…irreverent and sometimes heartbreaking, Kiss Kiss is an enthralling and entertaining read from start to finish.” — Alison McBain, Bewildering Stories

“Reading Kiss Kiss is like delving a box of chocolates without a cover as your guide. You’ll discover stories with soft, sweet centers. But some are just as jagged as biting into an almond—hidden inside white nougat—drizzled with red icing.” — Story and Grit

Excerpt

Creeps

Apparently, there are creeps everywhere. I hear my female co-workers talking about them over their cubicle walls. I sit on my bar stool, nursing my gin and tonic, staring straight ahead or doodling on a bar nap and listen to women at happy hour complaining about the creeps in their life. I don’t know what makes a guy a creep. One of the four women next to me at the bar looked up and our eyes met in the back bar mirror. She motioned for her girlfriends to follow her and pointed to a table. “Creep,” she said, passing behind me.

About the Author

Paul Beckman’s newest flash collection, his 4th, is Kiss Kiss, (Truth Serum Press). Paul had a micro story selected for the 2018 Norton Anthology New Micro Exceptionally Short Fiction. He was one of the winners in the 2016 The Best Small Fictions and his story “Mom’s Goodbye” was chosen as the winner of the 2016  Fiction Southeast Editor’s Prize. He’s widely published in the following magazines among others: Raleigh Review, Litro, Playboy, Pank, Blue Fifth Review, Matter Press, Pure Slush, Thrice Fiction, and Literary Orphans. Paul had a story nominated for the 2019 Best Small Fictions and he hosts the monthly FBomb flash fiction series in NY at KGB’s Red Room. He’s judged writing contests for Cahoodaloodaling and Brilliant Flash Fiction.

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Posted in excerpt, fiction, Guest Post, Historical, Thriller on February 11, 2019

Title: THE LIEBOLD PROTOCOL: a Mattie McGary + Winston Churchill World War 2 Adventure
Author: Michael & Kathleen McMenamin
Publisher: First Edition Design Publishing
Pages: 389
Genre: Historical Thriller

Synopsis

Winston Churchill’s Scottish goddaughter, Mattie McGary, the adventure-seeking Hearst photojournalist, reluctantly returns to Nazi Germany in the summer of 1934 and once again finds herself in deadly peril in a gangster state where widespread kidnappings and ransoms are sanctioned by the new government.

Mattie turns down an early request by her boss Hearst to go to Germany to report on how Hitler will deal with the SA Brown Shirts of Ernst Rohm who want a true socialist ‘second revolution’ to follow Hitler’s stunning first revolution in 1933. Having been away from Germany for over a year, her reputation as “Hitler’s favorite foreign journalist” is fading and she wants to keep it that way.

Instead, at Churchill’s suggestion, she persuades Hearst to let her investigate one of the best-kept secrets of the Great War—that in 1915, facilitated by a sinister German-American working for Henry Ford, British and Imperial German officials essentially committed treason by agreeing Britain would sell raw rubber to Germany in exchange for it selling precision optical equipment to Britain.  Why? To keep the war going and the profits flowing.  After Mattie interviews Ford’s German-American go-between, however, agents of Scotland Yard’s Special Branch are sent by Churchill’s political opponents in the British government to rough her up and warn her she will be prosecuted under the Official Secrets Act unless she backs off the story.

Left no choice, Mattie sets out for Germany to investigate the story from the German side and interview the German nobleman who negotiated the optics for rubber deal. There, Mattie lands right in the middle of what Hearst originally wanted her to investigate—Adolf Hitler believes one revolution is enough—and she learns that Hitler has ordered the SS to assassinate all the senior leadership of Ernst Rohm’s SA Brown Shirts as well as other political enemies on Saturday 30 June, an event soon known to History as ‘The Night of the Long Knives’.

Mattie must flee Germany to save her life. Not only does the German-American working for Henry Ford want her story on the optics for rubber treason killed, he wants her dead along with it. Worse, Mattie’s nemesis, the ‘Blond Beast’ of the SS, Reinhard Heydrich, is in charge of Hitler’s purge and he’s secretly put her name on his list…

Guest Post

Random Thoughts on Using Real Persons as Characters in Historical Fiction

I’ve been asked more than once why we use so many real persons as characters in our Mattie McGary + Winston Churchill historical thrillers so here are six thoughts on that subject for the six actual historical persons who have appeared in three or more of our novels—Winston Churchill, William Randolph Hearst, William J. ‘Wild Bill’ Donovan,

Adolf Hitler, Hermann Goring, and Reinhard Heydrich.

  • It’s easier using real people rather than creating fictional characters. Every fictional character a novelist creates, major or minor, has a backstory that the writer must know even if it never appears in the novel itself. Creating a backstory takes time. Using a real person eliminates that task as the character comes with a readymade backstory complete with friends and enemies, likes and dislikes.
  • By the same token, however, you’ve got to know the real person’s backstory and this means reading a lot about that person, preferably a biography if there is one.
  • Real people add verisimilitude to a historical novel, but getting those persons wrong or a detail about their lives wrong can quickly destroy that willing suspension of disbelief every reader brings to a novel. That means, for example, that you can’t have a tee-totaling, non-smoking vegetarian like Hitler eating meat, drinking alcohol or smoking a cigar. Likewise, you can’t have Churchill drinking Scotch without water. His whisky was always diluted with large quantities of water or soda.
  • Real people make for more plausible villains. Why create a fictional Nazi bad guy when you have so many real people to choose from? Hitler, Himmler, Goebbels, and Heydrich are all there for the taking. This allows you to have something other than a black and white portrayal. Hermann Goring, for example, kept lion cubs as pets, feeding them with a baby bottle. Hitler was unfailingly polite to his secretaries and, unlike Churchill, never swore at them. The only problem using a real historical person as a villain, however, if you can’t kill him at the end of the book if it’s not his time.
  • For the same reason, real historical people make more plausible supporting characters. If Mattie McGary is going to work for a newspaper, it’s better to have her boss be a fascinating guy like William Randolph Hearst rather than a two-dimensional Perry White of The Daily Planet.
  • Casting as a character a historical person whom you don’t especially like lets you display their less attractive traits. President Herbert Hoover, for example, was an anti-Catholic bigot and we gave him ample opportunity to display that in The DeValera Deception. His successor Franklin D. Roosevelt was both an anti-Semite and an anti-Catholic bigot who once actually said to a Catholic appointee “This is a Protestant country, and the Catholics and Jews are here on sufferance. It is up to you to go along with anything I want at this time.” We had FDR use that line in The Silver Mosaic.

Excerpt

Mattie McGary

21 Club

21 West 52nd Street

New York City

Wednesday, 13 June 1934

MATTIE McGARY tipped the taxi driver and stepped from the Yellow Cab and walked under the portico of the 21 Club, the former 1930’s speakeasy that had become, after the end of prohibition, one of the most popular watering holes in New York. It was known to its regulars, of which Mattie was one, as Jack and Charlie’s or simply 21. She was a few minutes early, but she didn’t want to keep her boss, William Randolph Hearst, waiting. The new Hearst headquarters building was just up the street at West 57th and Eighth Avenue and he also might be early.

Mattie was a tall, attractive and some—including her husband—would say stunning redhead whose figure turned heads in any room she entered. Now, she entered the Bar Room at 21 and stood there, scanning the room until she saw Hearst at his favorite table, #4, in the far left-hand corner of the room. Her hair was cut in a short tousled style that she had somewhat patterned after the American aviatrix Amelia Earhart. She wore a royal blue matching silk jacket and form-fitting skirt flattering a figure that, judging from the number of male heads that turned as she waved at Hearst and walked the length of the dark mahogany-lined room, drew men’s attention wherever she went. As she was the only woman in the Bar Room, she had no doubt most men were checking out her ass. She had wedding and engagement rings on her left hand, but she knew what her assets were.

There were various model aircraft hanging from the Bar Room’s low, dark ceiling. These included a British Imperial Airways Flying Boat, a Pan American Clipper, Lindbergh’s Spirit of St. Louis, a Ford Tri-Motor, a giant Handley-Page HP-42 bi-plane airliner, and, of personal interest to her, a Pitcairn-Cierva PCA-2 autogiro and the new German Zeppelin, the Graf Bismarck, formerly the British Vickers-built airship the R-100.

The autogiro was a model of the Celtic Princess, her husband Bourke Cockran’s aircraft. A few years ago she and her then-fiancé had flown it cross-country in an unsuccessful attempt to break America Earhart’s record set earlier that year. The zeppelin was the model of an airship commanded by her good friend Kurt von Sturm with whom, to her regret, she had a brief affair several years ago when she and Cockran had been briefly estranged and she thought, erroneously, that he had dropped her and taken up with a new blonde client.

Hearst stood up to greet Mattie when she arrived at his table. They exchanged brief kisses on the cheek and then a waiter arrived to pull out the table so she could sit beside him on the banquette. 21 had a specific protocol that if two people were dining together at a banquette table, then they had to sit next to each other facing out to the room.

Hearst was a tall, shambling man, well over 6 feet with a comma of gray hair boyishly falling over his forehead. He had clear, blue eyes and didn’t look his 71 years of age. For such a large man, however, he had a surprisingly high voice.

“Thanks for joining me for lunch, Mattie, I appreciate it.”

Mattie had been surprised Hearst asked her to lunch at 21 when she called him yesterday to schedule an appointment to discuss her next assignment. Usually, on those occasions, they met at his castle-like estate on Long Island Sound when he was on the East coast. “Any time you want to treat me to lunch at Jack and Charlie’s, Chief, all you have to do is ask and I’ll be there with bells on. What’s the occasion?”

Hearst smiled. “I always take my Pulitzer-Prize-winning journalists to celebrate at 21.”

“Well, Chief, this is the second year in a row I’ve had some stories nominated for a Pulitzer, but that’s not the same as being a winner.”

In fact, Mattie had four stories from 1933 nominated for a Pulitzer, all of which she believed deserved to be winners. One involved the Transfer Agreement between the Jewish Palestine Authority and the German government in which the Nazis agreed to allow Jews emigrating to Palestine to avoid the currency rules which forbade any German emigrant from taking assets with him. In exchange for allowing emigrating Jews to take with them to Palestine the equivalent of $5,000 US, the Jewish Palestine Authority agreed to buy exports of agricultural equipment from Germany in an equivalent amount. Further, the Jewish Authority agreed to actively oppose the Jewish-led worldwide boycott of German exports that was threatening to cripple the German economy and bring down the new Nazi government.

A companion story concerned the Concordat negotiated between the Vatican and the Nazis whereby the German government agreed to allow the Catholic Church to operate freely in Germany with no interference. In exchange, the Church agreed to forbid its clergy—priests, monks and nuns—from engaging in ‘political activity’ of any kind with the Nazis being the sole arbiter of what constituted ‘political activity’.

The third story consisted of exclusive interviews with the new German Chancellor, Adolf Hitler, and the new U.S. President, Franklin Roosevelt, right before assassination attempts on both where Mattie had been sitting beside them during the attempts. A fourth story concerned the rise of the fascist movement in America, focusing on the Silver Legion of America and Friends of New Germany.

Hearst raised his hand and a waiter came over with a silver bucket of ice on a pedestal, inside of which was a bottle of champagne. He placed two champagne flutes on the table and held the bottle up for Hearst’s inspection. He nodded his approval and the waiter undid the foil, popped the cork and filled Mattie’s flute halfway to the top. She smiled when she noticed the champagne was Pol Roger, the favorite of her godfather Winston Churchill.

Once Hearst’s flute was filled, he stood up, tapped his spoon against the flute until the buzz of noise from the many luncheon conversations in that section of the room had died down. Then he raised his flute and said in a loud voice that carried to the front of the Bar Room. “I propose a toast to the Hearst organization’s newest Pulitzer Prize winner.”

Mattie blushed as applause and not a few wolf whistles greeted Hearst’s toast.

“Really, Chief, I won?” Mattie asked as she reached over and hugged Hearst after he sat down. “Which story was it?” she asked, her voice full of excitement.

“Actually, it was all four stories and two prizes. You received the prize for ‘Correspondence’ for your stories from Germany on the Transfer Agreement and the Concordat. I think it was your interview with Hermann Göring that did the trick. No other story had that. You got the ‘Reporting’ prize for your stories on the Hitler and FDR assassination attempts after your exclusive interviews with them as well as your story on American fascists. The panelists were impressed by your courage under fire with Hitler and FDR as well as your running the gauntlet of the Silver Shirts and the Friends of New Germany in front of Severance Hall in Cleveland.”

Hearst reached down into a briefcase beside him and pulled up a galley proof of The New York American dated for tomorrow and handed it to her. There, on the front page and above the fold was a bold headline: ‘Two Pulitzers For Hearst Papers’ Mattie McGary’. Right below it was a two-year-old photo of Mattie standing in front of Cockran’s autogiro that she had just flown across the country, almost breaking Amelia Earhart’s record. Shot from below, it was her favorite. She was wearing a leather flying outfit from head to toe—a shearling–lined sheepskin flying jacket, trousers and boots—a camera in one hand, her leather flight helmet and goggles in the other, her tousled red hair blowing in the wind and a big grin on her face.

“That’s only the galley for The American,” Hearst said, “but the same story in the same place will run in all my papers tomorrow.”

Thanks, Chief,” Mattie said as she leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “I really appreciate it.”

“It’s a shame,” Hearst said, “that the Transfer Agreement and the Concordat undercut the anti-Nazi boycott of German exports that otherwise might have crippled the German economy and brought down the new Nazi government.”

“True, it didn’t do that,” Mattie allowed, “but don’t overlook the silver lining of the boycott. It accomplished two big things. It’s all there in my interview with Göring. First, Hitler issued a directive to the SA and its brown-shirted Storm Troopers to cease any actions like boycotts against the mostly Jewish-owned department stores and their suppliers. He even authorized a loan to a Jewish Department store that was close to bankruptcy. Sure, Hitler only did it to keep thousands of Aryans off the unemployment rolls if any department stores had to close their doors because of brown-shirt bullying, but he still did it and those stores remained open and prospering.”

Mattie paused and took a sip of champagne. “The second thing Hitler and Göring did in response to the boycott last year was even bigger. They forbade all violence against the Jews that the SA had been committing without authorization of the government. The penalty for doing so was, at a minimum, confinement to a concentration camp or, at the other end, death.”

“Really, death?” Hearst asked. “I don’t recall you mentioning that in your article.”

“I didn’t go into any detail,” Mattie replied, “and only mentioned it in passing. You remember Bobby Sullivan?”

“Sure, I first met him at San Simeon in 1929 right before the reception of the Graf Zeppelin when it arrived in Los Angeles on the round-the-world voyage I sponsored. He was in your wedding party last year in Scotland. Wasn’t he ex-IRA or something?”

“More like the Irish Republican Brotherhood led by Michael Collins. He was a member of ‘The Apostles’, Collins’ hit squad in the Anglo-Irish War in 1920 to 1921. Anyway, Bobby’s sister was married to a Jewish physician in Berlin who the SA castrated and killed last year. Göring practically gave Bobby a license to kill in taking revenge on all those responsible. He showed me photographs of Bobby’s six victims, all of them naked below the waist and missing their manly parts. Each man had a sign pinned to his chest that said ‘This is what happens to all who disobey the Fuhrer and kill Jews without his consent.’ We obviously couldn’t use them in your papers, but Göring actually had them published on the front page of Der Angriff.”

“Congratulations, Miss McGary,” the waiter said as he returned to their table to take their lunch orders. Mattie thanked him and then ordered a dozen oysters and chicken hash while Hearst went for the Dover Sole and, to her surprise, another bottle of Pol Roger. Her boss rarely drank alcohol and, in fact, prohibited alcohol in the guest rooms at San Simeon, his elaborate Spanish mission-style estate in Central California.

“I must say Göring was right,” Mattie continued after the waiter had left, “when he said the SA loved their, uh, genitals more than they hated Jews because violence against Jews over the course of the next year practically disappeared, especially in large cities where most German Jews live. I think the boycott deserves the credit for forcing Hitler’s hand to issue those decrees.”

“Okay, Mattie, what’s next? What are you going to give me to enter in next year’s Pulitzers? I’d really like to see you follow up on that SA leader Ernst Rohm and the story our Berlin correspondent filed in March about a speech he gave in early February. He said that the SA was the true army of National Socialism and that the Reichswehr should be limited to being a training organization for the SA. I’d like to know what your friend Göring thinks about that, not to mention the German General Staff.”

Mattie frowned. It had been well over a year since last she had been in Germany. As a consequence, her reputation in Germany as ‘Hitler’s favorite foreign journalist’ was beginning to fade. The last thing she wanted to do was revive that by doing a story on the SA and the German Army, notwithstanding that she had many high-level contacts in Nazi Germany including Göring and the Nazi foreign press chief Ernst ‘Putzi’ Hanfstaengl as well as Hitler himself.

Göring is not my friend, Chief. He is a source and that only because my friend Kurt von Sturm is his principle adviser on airships. Speaking of airships, Bourke and I are flying to Europe this Saturday on the Graf Bismarck. We’re going to spend the summer at our new house in Ireland. Bourke is going to finish his book on political assassinations and I’m going to use it as a base of operations for what I hope you’ll approve as my next story. Patrick and his grandmother Mary Morrissey sail tomorrow for Ireland. He’s going to spend a month in Galway with her getting to know his first and second cousins before he comes up to join us in Donegal.”

“That sounds like a wonderful summer. What did you have in mind for your next story, my dear?”

“Fascist movements in Europe other than Germany and Italy. A companion piece, if you will, to my story on fascism in America. Democracy is in trouble, Chief. I’ve done the preliminary research and there are fascist movements all over Europe. If the world’s economy stays bad, many of them could come to power just like Hitler and Mussolini.”
Her oysters arrived and Mattie ate one, took a sip of champagne and continued.

She held up her hand, and ticked them off on her fingers. “There are strong fascist parties in Austria, Belgium, Finland, Hungary, Ireland, the Netherlands, Portugal, Romania and Poland.”

“Well,” Hearst began, “I suppose it would be a good follow-up to the American fascist story, but I really was hoping to have an in-depth piece on the growing tension between Rohm’s SA and the German General Staff who I imagine don’t take kindly to becoming just a training cadre for Nazi Storm Troopers. Our new Berlin correspondent, Prescott Talbot, is good, but he’s not as good as his predecessor Isaac Rosenbaum or, for that matter, you.”

Mattie began to reply, but she was interrupted by their entrées being served. After the waiter had left and she had sampled her chicken hash, she looked over at Hearst. “Yes, it’s a shame you had to reassign Zack, but you had no choice after those SA thugs fractured his skull and cut off his ear for a souvenir. London is a far safer place for a Jewish journalist. Look, I really don’t want to get involved in any story about Ernst Rohm.”

“Why is that?” Hearst asked.

“Because when I was working on the Transfer Agreement, Kurt von Sturm and I were kidnapped at the Reichsbank one night by SA Storm Troopers and brought to Rohm’s hotel suite where, in plain view, he was buggering one of his adjutants, a young, very naked blond Storm Trooper.”

Hearst’s eyes went wide. “Oh, my God!” Hearst exclaimed. “I had no idea.”

“Wait. It gets worse. It’s common knowledge that Rohm is homosexual, so I wasn’t surprised, but doing it right in front of us was a tad off-putting. What’s worse is that he threatened to do the same to me if Kurt and I didn’t tell him why we had been at the Reichsbank that evening.”

“That’s…I’m at a loss…What a horrible person.” Hearst said.

“Yep,” Mattie said and slurped another oyster. “Fortunately, Sturm bluffed our way out of Rohm’s clutches. He said that I was an undercover Gestapo agent who used my position as a journalist with the Hearst papers as a cover for my work for the Reich and that we had been on a top-secret mission inside the Reichsbank at the behest of Reichsminister Göring with the blessing of the Fuhrer.”

“Well, given that, I understand your reluctance to go anywhere near that man again, but can’t you do the story without interviewing him?” Hearst said.

“Here’s what I can do. “Mattie concluded, “Göring and Rohm are bitter enemies. I’ve known Göring since 1923 when he commandeered my motorcar as a machine gun platform in the Munich putsch. If I have Sturm convey my request to Göring to have him give an exclusive interview to Prescott Talbot on the subject of Ernst Rohm, I’m sure he’ll agree. I’ll have Kurt brief Talbot off the record on what he knows. Göring has wiretaps on all the top SA people, not just Rohm. Transcripts of the calls are made daily. They’re called the ‘Brown Pages’ because of the color of the paper on which they’re typed. Sturm is on the approved list so he may well know a lot about what Rohm and other SA thugs are up to.”

Hearst sighed. “Well, it’s not the same as you doing the interview, but it’s better than what Talbot could do on his own. I’m not enthusiastic about your European fascist story, but let me think about it some more and I’ll get back to you. Why do I have the idea you always get the better of me when we disagree on your next story?”

Mattie grinned. “A faulty memory on your part, Chief. Sooner or later, you always get your way.”

 

About the Authors

Michael McMenamin is the co-author with his son Patrick of the award winning 1930s era historical novels featuring Winston Churchill and his fictional Scottish goddaughter, the adventure-seeking Hearst photojournalist Mattie McGary. The first five novels in the series—The DeValera Deception, The Parsifal Pursuit, The Gemini Agenda, The Berghof Betrayal, and The Silver Mosaic—received a total of 15 literary awards. He is currently at work with his daughter Kathleen McMenamin on the sixth Winston and Mattie historical adventure, The Liebold Protocol.

Michael is the author of the critically acclaimed Becoming Winston Churchill, The Untold Story of Young Winston and His American Mentor [Hardcover, Greenwood 2007; Paperback, Enigma 2009] and the co-author of Milking the Public, Political Scandals of the Dairy Lobby from LBJ to Jimmy Carter [Nelson Hall, 1980]. He is an editorial board member of Finest Hour, the quarterly journal of the International Churchill Society and a contributing editor for the libertarian magazine Reason. His work also has appeared in The Churchills in Ireland, 1660-1965, Corrections and Controversies [Irish Academic Press, 2012] as well as two Reason anthologies, Free Minds & Free Markets, Twenty Five Years of Reason [Pacific Research Institute, 1993] and Choice, the Best of Reason [BenBella Books, 2004]. A full-time writer, he was formerly a first amendment and media defense lawyer and a U.S. Army Counterintelligence Agent. 

Kathleen, the other half of the father-daughter writing team, has been editing her father’s writing for longer than she cares to remember. She is the co-author with her sister Kelly of the critically acclaimed Organize Your Way: Simple Strategies for Every Personality [Sterling, 2017]. The two sisters are professional organizers, personality-type experts and the founders of PixiesDidIt, a home and life organization business. Kathleen is an honors graduate of Sarah Lawrence College and has an MFA in Creative Writing from New York University. The novella Appointment in Prague is her second joint writing project with her father. Their first was “Bringing Home the First Amendment”, a review in the August 1984 Reason magazine of Nat Hentoff’s The Day They Came to Arrest the Book.  While a teenager, she and her father would often take runs together, creating plots for adventure stories as they ran.

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Posted in Book Release, excerpt, mystery, Spotlight, Trailer on February 10, 2019

Synopsis

What exactly happened to Netaji Subhash Chandra Bose?

  • In 1945, Netaji Subhash Chandra Bose, Leader of the INA leaves Singapore to take a series of flights, and dies in Taiwan after his plane crashes near Formosa. Or so it seems.
  • In 1947, Mr Mrs Singh, an illustrious army couple, both veterans of the Indian National Army, are last seen in Delhi, and then never again.
  • In 1949, the plane carrying the first deputy Prime Minister of India, Sardar Vallabhai Patel, mysteriously disappears for seven hours.
  • In 2012, following the fall of WikiLeaks, a female hacker of the notorious X group is on the run as most wanted by everyone from Interpol to the KGB
  • In 2015, the millionaire CEO of a Fortune 500 company suddenly resigns and vanishes from the public eye.

A set of seemingly unconnected disappearances emerge to be woven into a single fabric as the answer to one leads to another… In this riveting narrative, bestselling author Shreyas Bhave, takes the reader on a thrilling adventure to solve the greatest mystery the Indian nation has known.

Excerpt

Colonel Hardy looked at his wristwatch. It was almost time for the Court Marshall to begin. But then there were so many trials squeezed into one day that it was natural for his colleagues to be late for this one. He decided to start without them. “So, born in Lahore, eh?” he asked, eyes still on the files.

“Born and brought up there, Sir,” Major Singh replied. “I graduated from Government College, Lahore, and then sat for the Military Entrance Exam, passing which, I went to the Indian Military Academy at Dehra Doon.” Major Singh’s English was impeccable.

“Which year batch was it? “Hardy asked, impressed by the Punjabi’s resume. He himself was an alumnus of the same institute, though a few years junior to this man.

“1936.”

“Good.” Colonel Hardy gnawed his lower lip. So the Punjabi Major was his senior by almost half a decade.

“I was commissioned as Second Lieutenant on the Special List in early 1939,” Singh said, standing straight in the dock. “2nd Battalion. The Highlanders!”

“Secunderabad, right?”

“Indeed. A boring year until we were sent to the Far East to hold a garrison in a quaint little British port.”

Colonel Hardy read further. “Singapore, huh.”

“The war was soon to come.”

Hardy smiled as he went through the war records in the files. “I see one promotion after another. In less than six months, you were Acting Captain.”

“I served with distinction. Your army promotes on talent alone; I’ll give you that.” Singh bowed.

Colonel Hardy closed the files and looked up. “Japanese prisoner-of-war in Malaya, 1941 – what happened?”

“I was captured in Malaya.” Singh twisted his thick mustache. “I had taken my regiment on a midnight raid on the Japanese docking station on the island of Java.”

Trailer

About the Author

Shreyas is a 21 year old guy currently pursuing his B.Tech in Electrical Eng. from VNIT Nagpur. His love for history since his childhood prompted him to write his take on the story of Asoka who was one of the towering figures in the history of India, which has been taken up as ‘The Asoka Trilogy’ by Leadstart Publishing.

The first part of the trilogy called ‘The Prince of Patliputra’ has been published in January 2016 and garnered positive responses.

He is also presently working on several other manuscripts and completing the final year of his engineering Course.

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Posted in excerpt, Giveaway, romance, Texas, Western on February 7, 2019

The Outlaw’s Mail Order Bride

Mail Order Bride, #1

by

Linda Broday

Genre: Historical Western Romance

Publisher: Sourcebooks Casablanca

Publication Date: January 29, 2019

Number of Pages: 384 pages

SCROLL DOWN FOR THE GIVEAWAY! 

When the West was wild, and man’s law favored the few, extraordinary women could be found…in the heart of an outlaw.

Outlaw Clay Colby is tired of living one step in front of the law and wants to see his dream of having a wife, a family, to give his life meaning. So far, he’s been rejected twice, and he won’t try again if this one doesn’t work out. But hope fills him that Tally Shannon will see his heart and help him finish this town where once stood an outlaw hideout. On the day when she’s supposed to arrive, a bitter enemy sets fire to the buildings he’d fought to erect and he’s back with nothing to show for his efforts. There’s no woman in the world who’d stand by him now.

But Talley Shannon is no ordinary woman.

After escaping the living hell of the Creedmore Insane Asylum into which she was thrust to die, Tally only wants someone to protect her and the little girl under her care. She doesn’t mind that Clay’s home is dang near burned to the ground—not when he makes her feel so safe. So cherished. But it’s only a matter of time before the ghosts of her past come calling, intent on stealing her happiness, her very life…and her loving cowboy must defend his new bride—and the family they forged—to his very last breath.

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Praise for The Outlaw’s Mail Order Bride

“Broday’s earthy, no-nonsense characters fit the rugged setting perfectly, and it’s a pleasure to watch these two lonely, cynical souls forge a powerful, passionate partnership.” – Book Page

“Clay and Tally’s story will captivate the historical western lover in us all. Linda Broday has earned her way into the coveted title of “Queen of Texas Historical Romance.” — Tonya, Goodreads reviewer

“If love is your interest, do not miss this book. I could not put it down it was so compelling.” Cricket, Goodreads reviewer

“Trying to put this book down at times was like trying to get off of a high-speed roller coaster — the kind with twists, turns, and even loops; it’s just impossible.” Glenda, Goodreads reviewer

Clay stared at the stars dotting the dark expanse above. “I love you, Tally. I really deep down love you. This is nothing like when I told you I was going to choose to love you. This is different and it makes me…” He paused and faced her. “We are truly one person, one heart. Does that make sense?”

Tally tenderly cupped his jaw. “I think I first came to realize that I loved you when Josie almost died. But now, I have to tell you and not leave anything important unsaid, just in case…”

“Nothing is going to happen. Get that thought out of your head.” Clay regretted his rough voice, but it hurt too much to even consider the possibility of life without her.

“It might. You know Slade will come back with more men sooner or later. That’s just a given. When he does, I won’t have left anything unsaid. My love is solid and I’ll never feel this way about another as long as I live.”

Her vow created a tranquil glow around him. He finally had what he’d searched his whole life for. He blinked away the sudden mist in his eyes.

“Get some sleep.” He tucked her head onto his shoulder, her heart beating in rhythm with his.

Hours before dawn came, Clay woke to find her gone. The candles around the bed had gone out. He sat up quickly, a knot forming in his stomach. He jerked to his feet, his gaze sweeping the unfinished house. “Tally, where are you?”

Movement in the shadows revealed her location and concern replaced his worry. He dropped down beside her. “What’s wrong?”

Tally swung to face him, her eyes like pieces of glass. “A secret that I was going to take to my grave.”

I’m a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of over twenty historical western romance novels and short stories. I reside in the Texas Panhandle on land the American Indian and Comancheros once roamed, and at times if the breeze is just right, I can hear their voices whispering in the wind. Texas’ rich history is one reason I set all my stories here where cowboys are still caretakers of the land. I’m inspired every day by their immense dedication and love for the wide open spaces.

When I’m not writing, I collect old coins and I’ve also been accused (quite unfairly I might add) of making a nuisance of myself at museums, libraries, and historical places. I’m also a movie buff and love sitting in a dark theater, watching the magic unfold on the screen. As long as I’m confessing…chocolate is my best friend. It just soothes my soul.

 

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FIRST PRIZE: Signed Copy of The Outlaw’s Mail Order Bride +  $25 Amazon gift card

TWO WINNERS: Signed Copies of the book.

FEBRUARY 5-15, 2019

(USA only)

 

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Check out the other blogs on this tour

2/5/19 Excerpt All the Ups and Downs
2/5/19 Bonus Post Hall Ways Blog
2/6/19 Review Chapter Break Book Blog
2/7/19 Excerpt StoreyBook Reviews
2/8/19 Review That’s What She’s Reading
2/9/19 Author Interview Forgotten Winds
2/10/19 Top Ten Reading by Moonlight
2/11/19 Review Carpe Diem Chronicles
2/12/19 Guest Post Book Fidelity
2/13/19 Review The Book Review
2/14/19 Review Momma on the Rocks

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Posted in excerpt, Giveaway, romance on February 5, 2019

Synopsis

A young widow embraces a second chance at life when she reconnects with those who understand the sacrifices made by American soldiers and their families in award-winning author Laura Trentham’s The Military Wife.

Harper Lee Wilcox has been marking time in her hometown of Kitty Hawk, North Carolina since her husbandNoah Wilcox’s death, nearly five years earlier. With her son Ben turning five and living at home with her mother, Harper fights a growing restlessness, worried that moving on means leaving the memory of her husband behind.

Her best friend, Allison Teague, is dealing with struggles of her own. Her husband, a former SEAL that served with Noah, was injured while deployed and has come home physically healed but fighting PTSD. With three children underfoot and unable to help her husband, Allison is at her wit’s end.

In an effort to reenergize her own life, Harper sees an opportunity to help not only Allison but a network of other military wives eager to support her idea of starting a string of coffee houses close to military bases around the country.

In her pursuit of her dream, Harper crosses paths with Bennett Caldwell, Noah’s best friend, and SEAL brother. A man who has a promise to keep, entangling their lives in ways neither of them can foresee. As her business grows so does an unexpected relationship with Bennett. Can Harper let go of her grief and build a future with Bennett even as the man they both loved haunts their pasts?

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Excerpt

Present Day

Winters in Kitty Hawk, North Carolina, were temperamental. The sunshine and a temperate southerly breeze that started a day could turn into biting, salt-tinged snow flurries by afternoon. But one thing Harper Lee Wilcox could count on was that winter along the Outer Banks was quiet.

The bustle and hum and weekly rotation of tourists that marked the summer months settled into a winter melancholy that Harper enjoyed. Well, perhaps not enjoyed in the traditional sense . . . more like she enjoyed surrendering to the melancholy. In fact, her mother may have accused her of wallowing in it once or twice or a hundred times.

In the winter, she didn’t have to smile and pretend her life was great. Not that it was bad. Lots of people had it worse. Much worse. In fact, parts of her life were fabulous. Almost five, her son was happy and healthy and smart. Her mother’s strength and support were unwavering and had bolstered her through the worst time of her life. Her friends were amazing.

That was the real issue. In the craziness of the summer season, she forgot to be sad. Her husband, Noah, had been gone five years; the same amount of time they’d been married. Soon the years separating them would outnumber the years they’d been together. The thought was sobering and only intensified the need to keep a sacred place in her heart waiting and empty. Her secret memorial.

She parked the sensible sedan Noah had bought her soon after they married under her childhood home. Even though they were inland, the stilts were a common architectural feature up and down the Outer Banks.

Juggling her laptop and purse, Harper pushed open the front door and stacked her things to the side. “I’m home!”

A little body careened down the steps and crashed into her legs. She returned the ferocious hug. Her pregnancy was the only thing that had kept her going those first weeks after she’d opened her front door to the Navy chaplain.

“How was preschool? Did you like the pasta salad I packed for your lunch?”

“It made me toot and everyone laughed, even the girls. Can you pack it for me again tomorrow?”

“Ben! You shouldn’t want to toot.” Laughter ruined the admonishing tone she was going for.

As Harper’s mom said time and again, the kid was a hoot and a half. He might have Harper’s brown wavy hair, but he had Noah’s spirit and mannerisms and humor. Ben approached everything with an optimism Harper had lost or perhaps had never been gifted with from the start. He was a blessing Harper sometimes wondered if she deserved.

“Where’s Yaya?” She ruffled his unruly hair.

Of course, her mom had picked an unconventional name. “Grandmother” was too old-fashioned and pedestrian. Since she’d retired from the library, she had cast off any semblance of normalcy and embraced an inner spirit that was a throwback to 1960s bra burners and Woodstock.

“Upstairs painting.” Ben slipped his hand into Harper’s and tugged her toward the kitchen. Bright red and orange and blue paint smeared the back of his hand and arm like a rainbow. At least, her mom had put him in old clothes. “Yaya gave me my own canvas and let me paint whatever I wanted.”

“And what did you paint?” Harper prayed it wasn’t a nude study, which was the homework assignment from her mom’s community college class.

“I drew Daddy in heaven. I used all the colors.” The matter-of-factness of his tone clawed at her heart.

No child should have to grow up only knowing their father through pictures and stories. Her own father had been absent because of divorce and disinterest. He’d sent his court-ordered child support payments regularly until she turned eighteen but rarely visited or shown any curiosity about her. It had hurt until teenaged resentment scarred over the wound.

Noah would have made a great dad. The best. That he never got the chance piled more regrets and what-ifs onto her winter inspired melancholy.

“I’m sure he would have loved your painting.” Luckily, Ben didn’t notice her choked-up reply.

He went to the cabinet, pulled out white bread and crunchy peanut butter, and proceeded to make two sandwiches. It was their afternoon routine. Someday he would outgrow it. Outgrow her and become a man like his daddy.

She poured him a glass of milk, and they ate their sandwiches, talking about how the rest of his day went—outside of his epic toots. His world was small and safe and she wanted to keep it that way for as long as possible.

Her mom breezed into the kitchen, her still-thick but graying brown hair twisted into a messy bun, a thin paintbrush holding it in place. Slim and attractive, she wore paint-splattered jeans and a long-sleeve T-shirt that read: I make AARP look good. Harper pinched her lips together to stifle a grin.

About the Author

LAURA TRENTHAM is an award-winning author of contemporary and historical romance. She is a member of RWA, and has been a finalist multiple times in the Golden Heart competition. A chemical engineer by training and a lover of books by nature, she lives in South Carolina.

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